LOS ANGELES STYLIST JAZZIE BELLA
By Sarah Lorsch
She has two wives but she isn’t a polygamist. She knows the name and position of every bone in your body, no matter how big or small, but she’s not a doctor. She knows the historical significance of every pattern and style, but she’s not a historian. Her life’s been tough but she’s persevered and made a name for herself in an industry that can eat you up and spit you out without batting an eyelash. She’s a fashion stylist/designer but her profession is simply... Art.
Jazzie Bella (prepare to be jealous because that is her real name) has got beauty, brains and a confidence that would make a prom queen shudder. She’s reinvented what it means to be a triple threat, and with Jazzie at the reigns we’re in for a bumpy, beautiful ride to JazzieLand where silver and purple roam free.
I arrived at her disaster of a Fashion Castle (she’s in the process of moving) to find Jazzie in bathing suit bottoms and an old flannel button down with a hole in the shoulder held closed by a safety pin. Un-showered at two in the afternoon, Jazzie explained that one of her clients had shown up for a little clothing transaction.
“I’m really comfortable with my clients, we just sat by the pool for a bit and got all of our work done,” she nonchalantly explained as she headed for her balcony to smoke a cigarette.
It didn’t take long for the subject of New York Fashion Week (Sept 8-15) to arise. “I don’t need to fly to New York for that. All I need is a Bacardi Light, some Reds [her cigarettes of choice] and a magazine to flip through while I sit in my garb,” she said.
Speaking of magazine flipping, Jazzie pointed out the embarrassment of what it would mean to her if one of her client’s ever landed on People Magazine’s “Who Wore it Best” feature. “I’d kill myself if one of my people were ever on there,” she said. “You’re not good at your job if someone else is wearing the same thing as your client.”
Her commitment to her career and her gothic hippie style was evident as early as Kindergarten, if not before. “I’m sitting front and center in my Kindergarten picture with a black tutu, Mary Janes and a flower in my hair that I had picked moments before the picture was taken,” Jazzie said.
She made clear early on that she does not style people; she “Arts” them. “I’ve been told by clients that they feel like a piece of meat when I’m Arting them,” she said. “I treat them like a mannequin as opposed to a person, because when I’m done, they are my art.”
Her life hasn’t been perfect, but she’s been striving for perfection ever since she could remember. Her “egg donor” left when she was seven, and from the age of nine, she developed a relationship with her therapist, Toni Bernay. In Toni, Jazzie found a new mom - one who went to her school meetings and encouraged her to peruse her dreams. “She’s my everything,” Jazzie said. “She got me, and I’m hard to get.”
In 2007, Jazzie’s “mom,” Toni, passed away from Cancer. But despite the loss of her “everything,” Jazzie knew she had to continue to be everything that she could be.
Jazzie’s dad, along with the rest of her family, are all graduates from Ivy League schools and didn’t see art as a career. “I so badly wanted my dad to think I was amazing,” she said. “Then one day I reached a point where I didn’t give a fuck.”
If you’re from the L.A. area, you know what Harvard-Westlake is: one of the most prestigious high schools in the country. This is also where Jazzie excelled for four years, taking AP classes and being head of the cheer team. She got into almost every Ivy League school America has to offer and then showed her dad her true colors at the end of a school tour.
Otis College of Art and Design, which needs no introduction, was Jazzie’s school of choice. The only student to ever graduate from Otis with a double major (in Fashion Design and Pattern Making) and a minor (in Haute Couture), she dedicated herself to her love of art and even recalled spending her 21st birthday working on an oil pastel final, instead of guzzling booze like the average college kid.
“My dad said he would pay for my college and then I was on my own,” Jazzie recalled. “Now I’m 26, and completely independent and self sufficient as a MoFo.”
Her soon-to-be fashion line is called …the.PERFECT in honor of the perfection she sought as a child in her dad’s eyes and now as an artist in the eyes of the world. “This line is for the lions,” she said with a grin. “Not the lambs.”
Back to the present, Jazzie realized she was in dire need of a shower so she hopped in and invited me to snoop around her apartment. Her bed screamed couture, with Chanel, Fendi and the occasional Louis Vuitton bag draped across the sides. Her room was dripping with art. Despite the fact that she was in the process of moving, her room was still covered in art pieces, all produced by her in random spurts of creativity. The Mexican rugs that at some point in the future will be turned into three magnificent handbags for her and the “wives” caught my eye.
“The greatest artists don’t ‘do’ art… They live it, breathe it, and are suffocated by it until their last breath…” was written with “blood splatter” on a loose piece of paper on the floor.
The “wives,” Jazzie’s best friends, Linc and Brett, sauntered in an hour apart as the day progressed. I was ordered to ask them about Jazzie when she wasn’t around.
“We’ll go out after a long day and Jazzie will say, ‘no, you can’t wear that’ and she’ll just art me before we go out. I’ve been getting more numbers than normal,” Linc said, giggling.
Brett described Jazzie as a filter-less fashion mastermind. “She is the most honest person I know but it doesn’t tend to backfire because in this industry you need that ruthless state of mind,” Brett said. “She can cater to every type of client. She can work with a delicate person and a rapper and they will both be perfect.”
After hearing that comment Jazzie popped in to comment, “I’m like Osama. I know exactly what I want.”
The worst case of ADHD propels Jazzie into a constant world of jibber jabber where it’s almost impossible to get a word in edgewise. The wives have a code word although neither can remember where it came from. “Oklahoma” shuts Jazzie up.
Bored and ready to talk while packing up her bathroom, Jazzie told me about her favorite high-end vintage stores: The Way We Wore, Shareen Vintage, Decades and Resurrection. According to Jazzie, treasure-hunting can be best done in stores like St. Vincent De Paul, Rescue Mission Alliance, American Way, and of course Salvation Army and Goodwill, and the jackpot can be found at the Pasadena Flea Market (if you’re lucky enough to reside in L.A.).
Jazzie’s tips for flea market shopping started out slowly and then began flowing out as she gained momentum. “Go open minded; don’t go looking for something or you’ll miss all the good shit. Go early and hide things for later. Shop late; people want to get rid of stuff and will give you a better deal as they are leaving.”
The best advice came at the end. “Go there looking like you are starving and poor; no one will give you a good deal if you’re wearing expensive things.” Most importantly, “make friends with Russians. They have all of the furs and Louis Vuittons. Kiss some ass because it’s all about how much you really want it.”
“If something is crap but the fabric is great, get it and change it. Don’t think outside the box, break the fucking box!”
Jazzie may have a fond love for vintage shopping, but nothing comes close to her infatuation for Chanel that began when she was only four years old. “My grandma used to get all glammed up to go out and then she would go to the top of her closet and get a Chanel bag out of the box. I always thought ‘what is that special treasure?’ I knew that I wanted it,” she said, eyes gleaming. “I felt this je ne se quoi when I went to Chanel when I was little. It just felt right.”
The first purchase she ever made at Chanel was a gold wallet, the same wallet she uses now for good luck. From there she moved up to the big leagues of bags.
Where shoes are concerned, Dr. Martens seem to dominate Jazzie’s life. Piled high because of the move, boxes were scattered on counters and in heaps on the floor. Strangely enough, her favorite combat boots are Dr. Marten look-alikes that lace up to her calf. Her favorite Dr. Martens of the moment are black with a strip of silver studs wrapped around the ankle.
In line with the gothic feel of Dr. Martens, Jazzie also has the largest collection of legit rock tees and she challenges anyone to prove they have more.
Outside, darkness was falling but Jazzie never managed to run out of words. She discussed different people she would like to dress; Christina Aguilera and Brittney Spears came to mind. Then she decided she would rather dress “the big mother fuckers.” She asked what Cher looked like at the Burlesque premiere and I swear I could see a tear in her eye as she called Cher a bad Morticia Adams and insulted her stylist to no end.
Around 7:30, Jazzie finally managed to get out of her robe and put on her “uniform” which consists of black tights and a black stretchy tank top that becomes a dress length on her. “I just dress around my uniform. I put cool shit on over, fabulous scarves and stuff, and I rock it,” she said. “I’ve gotten so many clients to love this look. It sucks you in and makes you look thin and tall.
By this time, Linc had left and Jazzie was mildly arting Brett for a date. While curling Brett’s hair and helping her with a game of scrabble, she described the new look that she knows will take off within the next year.
“Gypsy is the new hippie,” she said seriously. “Out with the gold and in with the silver, purple, blacks and furs. You want at least one burnout velvet beaded fringe kimono. Wear slouchy boots, thermal leggings, capes and pile on the silver. A gypsy is a nomad, they just keep adding. Don’t accessorize, “excess-orize;” throw it all on and add dark eyes, plum lips and bushels of feathers.”
Brett left for her date and Jazzie and I took a quick trip to Goodwill only to be kicked out ten minutes later for closing. We headed back to her apartment to pack enough clothing and accessories to form her own vintage store.
Jazzie can’t be summarized. She’s an open book that never ends, constantly spewing creative pros and turning Mexican rugs into handbags. Her ambition says it all. “Karl’s getting old and I’m coming in.”
Confused? Just think Jazzie. Ok, think CHANEL.
Jazzie Bella (prepare to be jealous because that is her real name) has got beauty, brains and a confidence that would make a prom queen shudder. She’s reinvented what it means to be a triple threat, and with Jazzie at the reigns we’re in for a bumpy, beautiful ride to JazzieLand where silver and purple roam free.
I arrived at her disaster of a Fashion Castle (she’s in the process of moving) to find Jazzie in bathing suit bottoms and an old flannel button down with a hole in the shoulder held closed by a safety pin. Un-showered at two in the afternoon, Jazzie explained that one of her clients had shown up for a little clothing transaction.
“I’m really comfortable with my clients, we just sat by the pool for a bit and got all of our work done,” she nonchalantly explained as she headed for her balcony to smoke a cigarette.
It didn’t take long for the subject of New York Fashion Week (Sept 8-15) to arise. “I don’t need to fly to New York for that. All I need is a Bacardi Light, some Reds [her cigarettes of choice] and a magazine to flip through while I sit in my garb,” she said.
Speaking of magazine flipping, Jazzie pointed out the embarrassment of what it would mean to her if one of her client’s ever landed on People Magazine’s “Who Wore it Best” feature. “I’d kill myself if one of my people were ever on there,” she said. “You’re not good at your job if someone else is wearing the same thing as your client.”
Her commitment to her career and her gothic hippie style was evident as early as Kindergarten, if not before. “I’m sitting front and center in my Kindergarten picture with a black tutu, Mary Janes and a flower in my hair that I had picked moments before the picture was taken,” Jazzie said.
She made clear early on that she does not style people; she “Arts” them. “I’ve been told by clients that they feel like a piece of meat when I’m Arting them,” she said. “I treat them like a mannequin as opposed to a person, because when I’m done, they are my art.”
Her life hasn’t been perfect, but she’s been striving for perfection ever since she could remember. Her “egg donor” left when she was seven, and from the age of nine, she developed a relationship with her therapist, Toni Bernay. In Toni, Jazzie found a new mom - one who went to her school meetings and encouraged her to peruse her dreams. “She’s my everything,” Jazzie said. “She got me, and I’m hard to get.”
In 2007, Jazzie’s “mom,” Toni, passed away from Cancer. But despite the loss of her “everything,” Jazzie knew she had to continue to be everything that she could be.
Jazzie’s dad, along with the rest of her family, are all graduates from Ivy League schools and didn’t see art as a career. “I so badly wanted my dad to think I was amazing,” she said. “Then one day I reached a point where I didn’t give a fuck.”
If you’re from the L.A. area, you know what Harvard-Westlake is: one of the most prestigious high schools in the country. This is also where Jazzie excelled for four years, taking AP classes and being head of the cheer team. She got into almost every Ivy League school America has to offer and then showed her dad her true colors at the end of a school tour.
Otis College of Art and Design, which needs no introduction, was Jazzie’s school of choice. The only student to ever graduate from Otis with a double major (in Fashion Design and Pattern Making) and a minor (in Haute Couture), she dedicated herself to her love of art and even recalled spending her 21st birthday working on an oil pastel final, instead of guzzling booze like the average college kid.
“My dad said he would pay for my college and then I was on my own,” Jazzie recalled. “Now I’m 26, and completely independent and self sufficient as a MoFo.”
Her soon-to-be fashion line is called …the.PERFECT in honor of the perfection she sought as a child in her dad’s eyes and now as an artist in the eyes of the world. “This line is for the lions,” she said with a grin. “Not the lambs.”
Back to the present, Jazzie realized she was in dire need of a shower so she hopped in and invited me to snoop around her apartment. Her bed screamed couture, with Chanel, Fendi and the occasional Louis Vuitton bag draped across the sides. Her room was dripping with art. Despite the fact that she was in the process of moving, her room was still covered in art pieces, all produced by her in random spurts of creativity. The Mexican rugs that at some point in the future will be turned into three magnificent handbags for her and the “wives” caught my eye.
“The greatest artists don’t ‘do’ art… They live it, breathe it, and are suffocated by it until their last breath…” was written with “blood splatter” on a loose piece of paper on the floor.
The “wives,” Jazzie’s best friends, Linc and Brett, sauntered in an hour apart as the day progressed. I was ordered to ask them about Jazzie when she wasn’t around.
“We’ll go out after a long day and Jazzie will say, ‘no, you can’t wear that’ and she’ll just art me before we go out. I’ve been getting more numbers than normal,” Linc said, giggling.
Brett described Jazzie as a filter-less fashion mastermind. “She is the most honest person I know but it doesn’t tend to backfire because in this industry you need that ruthless state of mind,” Brett said. “She can cater to every type of client. She can work with a delicate person and a rapper and they will both be perfect.”
After hearing that comment Jazzie popped in to comment, “I’m like Osama. I know exactly what I want.”
The worst case of ADHD propels Jazzie into a constant world of jibber jabber where it’s almost impossible to get a word in edgewise. The wives have a code word although neither can remember where it came from. “Oklahoma” shuts Jazzie up.
Bored and ready to talk while packing up her bathroom, Jazzie told me about her favorite high-end vintage stores: The Way We Wore, Shareen Vintage, Decades and Resurrection. According to Jazzie, treasure-hunting can be best done in stores like St. Vincent De Paul, Rescue Mission Alliance, American Way, and of course Salvation Army and Goodwill, and the jackpot can be found at the Pasadena Flea Market (if you’re lucky enough to reside in L.A.).
Jazzie’s tips for flea market shopping started out slowly and then began flowing out as she gained momentum. “Go open minded; don’t go looking for something or you’ll miss all the good shit. Go early and hide things for later. Shop late; people want to get rid of stuff and will give you a better deal as they are leaving.”
The best advice came at the end. “Go there looking like you are starving and poor; no one will give you a good deal if you’re wearing expensive things.” Most importantly, “make friends with Russians. They have all of the furs and Louis Vuittons. Kiss some ass because it’s all about how much you really want it.”
“If something is crap but the fabric is great, get it and change it. Don’t think outside the box, break the fucking box!”
Jazzie may have a fond love for vintage shopping, but nothing comes close to her infatuation for Chanel that began when she was only four years old. “My grandma used to get all glammed up to go out and then she would go to the top of her closet and get a Chanel bag out of the box. I always thought ‘what is that special treasure?’ I knew that I wanted it,” she said, eyes gleaming. “I felt this je ne se quoi when I went to Chanel when I was little. It just felt right.”
The first purchase she ever made at Chanel was a gold wallet, the same wallet she uses now for good luck. From there she moved up to the big leagues of bags.
Where shoes are concerned, Dr. Martens seem to dominate Jazzie’s life. Piled high because of the move, boxes were scattered on counters and in heaps on the floor. Strangely enough, her favorite combat boots are Dr. Marten look-alikes that lace up to her calf. Her favorite Dr. Martens of the moment are black with a strip of silver studs wrapped around the ankle.
In line with the gothic feel of Dr. Martens, Jazzie also has the largest collection of legit rock tees and she challenges anyone to prove they have more.
Outside, darkness was falling but Jazzie never managed to run out of words. She discussed different people she would like to dress; Christina Aguilera and Brittney Spears came to mind. Then she decided she would rather dress “the big mother fuckers.” She asked what Cher looked like at the Burlesque premiere and I swear I could see a tear in her eye as she called Cher a bad Morticia Adams and insulted her stylist to no end.
Around 7:30, Jazzie finally managed to get out of her robe and put on her “uniform” which consists of black tights and a black stretchy tank top that becomes a dress length on her. “I just dress around my uniform. I put cool shit on over, fabulous scarves and stuff, and I rock it,” she said. “I’ve gotten so many clients to love this look. It sucks you in and makes you look thin and tall.
By this time, Linc had left and Jazzie was mildly arting Brett for a date. While curling Brett’s hair and helping her with a game of scrabble, she described the new look that she knows will take off within the next year.
“Gypsy is the new hippie,” she said seriously. “Out with the gold and in with the silver, purple, blacks and furs. You want at least one burnout velvet beaded fringe kimono. Wear slouchy boots, thermal leggings, capes and pile on the silver. A gypsy is a nomad, they just keep adding. Don’t accessorize, “excess-orize;” throw it all on and add dark eyes, plum lips and bushels of feathers.”
Brett left for her date and Jazzie and I took a quick trip to Goodwill only to be kicked out ten minutes later for closing. We headed back to her apartment to pack enough clothing and accessories to form her own vintage store.
Jazzie can’t be summarized. She’s an open book that never ends, constantly spewing creative pros and turning Mexican rugs into handbags. Her ambition says it all. “Karl’s getting old and I’m coming in.”
Confused? Just think Jazzie. Ok, think CHANEL.
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